THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BEfW ;  ,  •  -_  , 

BOU 

t4O  PS, 

LONQ  BfACa. 


(GOLD  MEDAL  PRIZE  POEM.) 

THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEflK 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

BERNARD  L.  RICE, 
WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  NATURE. 


COPYRIGHTED,    JUNE,   1898. 


1898. 

The  Christian  Endeavor  Printing  Co.     Engravings  by  Reistle. 
Denver ,  Colo. 


TO  MY^MOTHER. 


PS 


PREFACE. 

Principally  for  my  own  enjoyment  these 
verses  have  been  written.  However  the  poem 
which  occupies  the  larger  part  of  this  thin  vol 
ume  was  written  at  the  solicitation  of  friends 
in  the  early  summer  of  1896.  The  shorter 
pieces  culled  from  a  collection  of  no  great  size 
are  simply  an  effort  at  expressing  in  words  the 
little  gushes  of  feeling  that  well  up  to  the  sur 
face  at  odd  times  and  in  H  variety  of  circum 
stances.  In  handing  the  book  to  these  friends 
who  have  given  such  kindly  advice  and  en 
couragement  I  am  making  a  venture,  the  out 
come  of  which  the  future  only  can  prove.  Yet 
hope  whispers  me  onward,  thinking  that  per 
chance  some  one  from  the  many  may  find  a 
verse,  a  line  between  the  covers  wherein  is  con 
tained  a  note  of  comfort,  a  ray  of  joy. 

A  word  concerning  the  illustrations  inter 
spersed  through  the  pages:  They  are  taken  for 
the  most  part  from  the  photograhic  collection 
of  Mr.  F.  P.  Stevens  of  Colorado  Springs,  and 
they  are  guaranteed  to  be  genuine.  Through 
them  a  clearer  idea  of  the  beauty  and  sublim- 

762979 


VI  PREFACE. 

ity  of  this  handiwork  of  nature  may  be  gained. 
Yet  at  best  a  photograph  as  well  as  a  poem  is  a 
very  inadequate  representation  of  the  reality 
which  charms  the  eye  and  exalts  the  soul.  In 
combination  it  is  hoped  the  camera  and  the 
pen,  though  not  those  of  a  master,  may  truth 
fully  portray  to  the  reader  the  thoughts  stirred 
in  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

B.  L.  R. 


CONTENTS. 

POETRY. 

PAGE 

The  View  from  Pike's  Peak 9 

The  Lake 51 

An  Awakened  Remembrance 53 

My  Lady  Maraposa 55 

A  Faded  Blossom 57 

The  Friendship  of  Books 60 

At   Close  of  Day 63 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

" —     — the  King  of  Day  upriseth 

In  his  glory  from  his  chambers;" 2 

"To  the  westward  all  is   mountains," 15 

"Just  above  the  Sacred  Mountain," 16 

"Nestled  down  within  a  valley, 

Lies  a  busy  youthful   city." 20 

"Fairest  city  of  a  nation 

Is  this  Colorado  hamlet." 23 

"Set  apart  for  Learning's  temple," 24 

" —     — a  group  of  pillars 

Worn  and  old "  .  27 


VIII  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

—where  the  water, 


Gurgles  forth  from  Earth's  great    bosom," .  31 
"There  a  cataract  goes  leaping. 

Plunging  o'er  the  rocky  ledges." 32 

"Cheyenne  Mountain  clothed  in  beauty,". .  35 
"Somewhere  on  its  lonely  bosom 

Lies  a  grave —  -" 39 

"A  lone  island  in  an  ocean 

Boundless  as  the  great  Pacific!" 40 

"Beautious  Queen  of  Western   Cities." ....  44 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Morning  dawns  upon  the  mountain; 
Slow,  the  sullen  brooding  night-time 
Skulks  away  before  the  footstep 
Of  the  mellow-hearted  morning. 
From  yon  granite  cleft,  the  rock  squirrel 
Rises  up  to  greet  his  coming 
With  his  call  so  shrill  and  peevish : 
And  the  white-quail  just  awakened 
From  her  nest  all  rock  encircled 
Trims  her  plumage  to  make  ready 
For  the  first  glimpse  of  the  daybeam 
That  shall  glance  across  the  prairie. 

Dimly  outlined  in  the  distance 

Stretch  great  plains  and  hills  and  valleys; 

Hardly  can  the  eye  distinguish 

'Twixt  the  paler  blue  of  heaven 


10  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKfi's  PEAK. 

And  the  darker  blue  beneath  it: 
But  look  yonder  o'er  the  prairie, 
On  beyond  the  waving  grasses. 
Where  the  earth  and  sky  commingle. - 
See!  the  blue  is  tinged  with  golden. 
( )ne  by  one,  with  noiseless  footstep, 
Fleet  the  shining  hosts  of  heaven, 
And  beneath,  the  rolling  prairie 
Seems  to  heave  its  mighty  bosom; 
For  the  King  of  Day  upriseth 
In  his  glory  from  his  chamber: 
And  the  prairie's  bosom  trembles 
'Neath  the  splendor  of  the  Monarch. 
Now  unto  his  throne  of  jasper, 
Form  majestic,  he  ascendeth; 
And  his  robes  all  decked  with  jewels. 
Gems  of  ruby,  gems  of  diamond, 
Set  the  world  ablaze  resplendent: 
From  the  foldings  of  his  garments 
Streams  of  gold  and  floods  of  silver 
Spread  abroad  o'er  sky  and  prairie: 
And  its  breast  no  longer  trembles 
In  the  beauty  of  the  morning. 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  11 

From  the  distance  comes  the  glitter 
Of  great  cities  in  the  sunshine; 
Rivers'  breasts  reflect  the  radiance, 
As  they  hurry  on  their  journey 
Toward  the  vast  and  distant  ocean; 
And  the  breeze  of  morn  comes  floating. 
Gently  floating  o'er  the  prairie, 
Sending  ripples  through  the  grasses. 
And  the  flow'rets  make  obeisance 
To  some  unseen  elf  of  morning: — 
Thus  the  fancy  decks  the  prairie. 

Now  the  morning  sun  ascending 

Clothes  in  gold  the  distant  summits 

On  the  southward,  fills  with  glory 

Many  a  rock-bound,  snow-bound  fastness; 

But  the  lowly  vales  beneath  them, 

Lying  in  the  dark  and  shadow, 

Only  catch  the  light  reflected 

From  the  mountain's  sunlit  summit:— 

So  'mong  men,  the  light  celestial 

Seems  on  few  to  shed  its  blessing. 

Seems  to  fill  them  with  its  radiance, 


12  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Till  they  are  no  more  like  mortals, 
But  as  they  were  born  of  heaven; 
While  the  many  blindly  striving 
Only  linger  in  the  shadow, 
Only  catch  reflected  sunbeams 
From  the  higher  loftier  spirits. 
But,  as  though  the  veil  were  rifted 
'Twixt  the  lowly  and  the  lofty, 
Now  the  sunshine  fills  the  valleys. 
Seen  before  but  indistinctly, 
'Mid  the  plain,  a  winding  river 
Makes  its  way  past  farm  and  hamlet- 
Silver  thread,  all  interwoven 
With  the  line  of  woods  and  meadows. 
Near  the  stream  a  distant  city 
With  its  spires  reflects  the  sunshine: 
Tis  Pueblo,  busy,  bustling, 
Ringing,  roaring,  Western  Pittsburg. 
Up  from  many  a  busy  foundry, 
From  the  glowing,  glaring  furnace, 
Rolls  thick  smoke  in  inky  columns; 
Upward  floats  it.  soon  to  mingle 
With  the  flying  mists  of  heaven. 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE  S  PEAK. 

And  methinks  I  see  the  city 
Thronging  with  a  busy  people, — 
Myriad  souls,  with  many  a  purpose, 
Steadfast  each  his  aim  pursuing;— 
Nay,  not  so;  for  there  be  many, 
Wandering  down  life's  solemn  pathway, 
Who  have  naught  to  stir  them  onward 
Toward  a  noble,  grand  existance: — 
Such  do  often  mingle  with  them. 

Scattered  far  within  the  valley, 

Like  oases  in  the  desert, 

Other  cities  greet  the  vision; 

And  they  too  are  thronged,  I  fancy, 

With  the  same  unresting  mortals. 

Like  to  slowly  moving  serpents, 

Far  away,  yet  seen  distinctly, 

On  from  city  unto  city, 

O'er  the  plains,  move  throbbing  engines; 

With  long  lines  of  smoke  above  them, 

And  their  freighted  trains  behind  them, — 

Messengers  that  swiftly  carry 

Hearts  that  yearri  for  friends  far  distant, 


14  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKfi's  PEAK. 

Hearts  that  hope  for  all  before  them, 
Bearing  news  that  renders  lighter 
Foreheads  that  are  bowed  with  waiting. 

To  the  westward,  all  is  mountains, 
Vast  and  high,  of  boundless  measure, 
Heights  ne'er  trod  by  human  footstep. 
Where  the  snow  the  wild  sheep  tramples. 
And  the  mountains'  hoary  temples 
Seem  to  tell  of  baffled  tempests 
That  have  raged  for  countless  ages 
Round  their  mighty,  stone-clad  bosoms. 
Seem  to  tell  of  their  beginning 
And  of  all  the  years  that  followed:— 
How  the  transient  race  of  mortals 
Seeing  wondered  at  their  grandeur. 
When  they  first,  in  awe,  beheld  them. 
And  their  souls  were  turned  toward  heaven. 
Where  the  mountains  hold  communion 
With  their  God,  alone,  in  silence; 
How  they,  from  their  lofty  station 
Looking  downward,  saw  the  progress 
Made  by  tribes  and  clans  and  nations, 


fl 


• 


O      M 

E  S 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  17 

Watched  the  rise  and  fall  of  kingdoms, 
Till  at  length,  a  fairer  people 
Came  to  dwell  beneath  their  shelter, 
And  they  too  were  lifted  higher, 
Nearer  to  the  great  Creator. 
Just  above  the  Western  Mountains 
Floats  a  cloud  of  fleecy  vapor, 
Whiter  than  the  snow  beneath  it, 
Onward  toward  the  east;  now  resting 
In  some  lone,  sequestered  valley, 
Now  ascending,  now  descending, 
On  across  the  rugged  Rockies, 
Growing  larger  as  it  riears  us, 
Like  a  flock  of  frightened  lambkins, 
That  were  playing  in  the  sunshine, 
And  are  fleeting  o'er  the  meadows 
From  some  unexpected  comer. 

Now  the  dancing  vapors  linger 
Just  above  the  Sacred  Mountain, 
Where  the  Holy  Cross  lies  printed 
In  its  massive,  rocky  bosom. 
See,  with  folded  hands  they  hover 


18  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

O'er  the  spot,  in  adoration, 

And  seem  loath  to  wander  farther 

Through  the  mountains'  endless  pathways. 

High  into  the  scanty  ether 
Sangre  de  Christo  lifts  his  summits; 
Cloaked  in  snow,  with  forest  girded, 
As  to  shield  them  from  the  rigors 
Of  some  piercing,  Artie  blizzard. 
Soon  above  his  crests  uplifted, 
Roll  the  clouds  in  foamy  masses, 
Slowly,  slowly  gath'ring  round  them, 
Till  they  shut  out  all  from  vision, 
All  the  western  host  of  mountains. 

Not  alone  upon  the  mountains 
Do  the  mists  their  curtains  lower, 
For  their  creeping,  crawling  masses 
Have  o'erspread  the  lowly  valleys. 
On  they  float;  and  now  they  gather 
Round  old  Pike's  far-reaching  footstool, 
Slowly  climbing  onward,  upward. 
One  by  one  the  folds  o'ershadow 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE?S  PEAK.  21 

Verdant  hillocks,  that  were  mountains 
Were^they  not  within  the  presence 
Of  the  monarch  of  the  mountains. 
Low  they  bow;  arid  rock-ribbed  canons 
Echo  back  the  praises  sounded 
By  the  suppliant  to  the  master. 

Nestled'down  within  a  valley, 
Walled  by  mountains  gray  and  olden, — 
As  some  dwelling  built  of  brambles, 
Where  the  fledgling  of  the  eagle 
Rests  beneath  the  jutting  cliffside, — 
Lies  a  busy,  youthful  city. 
And  the  mountains  round  about  her 
Are  her  vaults  and  treasure-houses. 
Firmly  lodged  in  deep  concealment. — 
Where  at  first  the  Maker  placed  it. — 
Lie  her  treasures,  gold  and  silver: 
Treasures  that  in  by-gone  ages 
Might  have  dazed  a  stately  Roman, 
Or  have  caused  a  thirsting  Spaniard, 
Wild  at  heart,  to  cross  an  ocean. 
Down  the  slopes  are  lines  of  golden. 


22  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Blue  and  gray,  that  mark  the  places 
Where  are  found  the  open  doorways 
Of  these  mighty  treasure  houses. 
Swiftly  to  and  from  the  city, 
O'er  their  courses  iron-sheeted, 
Speed  the  trains,  with  treasure  loaded 
And  with  eager,  happy  people; 
For  the  city  that  was  conquered 
By  the  flames  and  swept  to  earthward. 
Rose  majestic  from  the  ashes, 
With  her  boundries  more  extended. 
So  may  we,  though  oft  we  stumble. 
Falter  not  nor  be  discouraged, 
But  mount  upward  011  the  ruins 
Of  ourselves,  and  in  the  rising 
Enter  life  more  noble  beings. 

Now  the  mists  beneath  the  mountain 
Pitch  their  snow-white  tents  around  it, 
Clap  their  hands  that  they  have  captured 
Such  a  monster  of  the  prairie; 
And  the  mountain  lies  encircled 
In  a  surging  sea  of  vapor: 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  25 

And  the  sunlight  seems  more  brilliant 
Shining  on  the  foamy  whiteness. 
Just  below  us,  on  the  eastward, 
Where  the  mountain's  feet,  entangled, 
Lie  enthralled  by  merry  captors, 
Rests  a  city  in  the  sunshine; 
Like  a  checker-board  extended, 
And  the  players  are  the  foot-hills 
And  the  dancing,  snowy  vapors; 
Like  a  garden  filled  with  blossoms, 
That  are  laid  in  squares  and  patches, 
With  the  walks  and  drives  between  them. 
Fairest  city  of  a  nation 
Is  this  Colorado  hamlet. 
Low  it  lies,  where  mountain  breezes 
Gently  waft  the  incense  downward 
From  the  roses  in  the  woodland, 
And  becomes  a  place  of  refuge 
For  frail  mortals  that  must  suffer. 
Through  the  portals  of  a  building 
Set  apart  for  Learning's  temple, 
Moves,  with  youthful  step  and  lightly. 
Day  by  day  the  busy  student. 


26  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Ah,  not  all  is  binding  labor, 
For  the  heart  celestial  kindled 
Throbs  with  joy  of  well-done  duty, 
Bounds  and  leaps  with  youthful  fervor 
At  the  victor's  triumph  sounded. 
So  he  lives,  as  from  his  fingers 
Fleet  the  winged  days  like  phantoms, 
Ever  striving,  upward  mounting, — 
Dauntless  heart  and  firm  endeavor— 
Toward  the  glory  crowned  summit 
That  is  called  the  Hill  of  Knowledge. 
Here  and  there  a  spire  uplifted 
Over  cot  and  over  mansion 
Tell  of  where  the  people  gather, 
Voicing  praise  unto  their  Maker; 
Pointing  upward,  ever  upward, 
Showing  them  the  way  to  heaven. 

Farther  up  a  group  of  pillars 
Worn  and  old  stand  grimly  waiting; 
Solemly  they  gaze  around  them, 
Waiting  for  some  vanished  being, 
Some  long-perished,  past  adorer. 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  29 

Low  to  bow  him  down  in  worship. 

Though  their  temple  oft  is  entered. 

Through  its  massive,  rock-bound  gateway, 

By  the  curious  race  of  mortals, 

Still  they  stand  unmoved,  unaltered; 

And  the  race  that  once  adored  them 

Never  murmers,  never  answers. 

'Tis  the  place  where  busy  Nature, 

In  her  never  ending  labor 

Shaping  mountains  and  great  rivers, 

Stretching  plains  and  carving  valleys, 

Has  with  master-finger,  moulded 

Monuments  unto  her  glory. 

Red  and  white,  the  massive  sandstones. 

Has  she  chiseled;  grim  and  lofty 

Has  she  raised  them  up  toward  heaven. 

Manitou  lies  just  above  them. 
Nearer  to  the  "Grand  Old  Mountain;" 
And  its  avenues  and  driveways, 
Lines  of  white  amid  the  verdure, 
Are  like  footpaths  in  a  garden. 
And  the  aged  cliffs  about  it 


30  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Are  its  walls  moss-grown  and  crumbling. 
There  beneath  the  trees,  in  shadow, 
Through  the  pleasant  summer  evenings, 
Weary  minds  and  tired  bodies 
Rest,  and  watch  the  sun  descending 
To  its  couch  behind  the  mountain, 
Rest  until  the  darkness  gathers. 
Built  on  either  side  the  city, 
Just  below  and  just  above  it, 
Are  two  structures,  where  the  water, 
With  its  soft  and  roguish  laughter, 
Gurgles  forth  from  Earth's  great  bosom, 
Whispering  secrets  of  its  birthplace 
To  the  parched  throats  that  quaff  it. 
Far  below  in  crystal  chambers, 
'Mid  the  corridors  all  golden, 
Palaces  whose  light  is  darkness, 
Is  the  birthplace  of  the  waters, 
Of  the  sparkling,  healing  waters. 

Soon  the  cities  in  the  sunshine, 
That  so  long  the  ga/e  enchanted, 
Fade  like  phantoms  from  the  vision; 


"There  a  cataract  goes  leaping. 
Plunging  o'erthe  rocky  ledges." 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  33 

For  the  mists  are  mounting  upward, 
And  beneath  them  lie  the  cities. 
On  they  climb;  and  slyly  creeping, 
Toward  the  mountain  ever  nearer, 
Now  they  slip  into  a  canon. 
There  a  cataract  goes  leaping, 
Plunging  o'er  the  rocky  ledges, 
Madly  onward  toward  the  ocean; 
And  a  quiet  lake  lies  sleeping 
Just  beyond  it  on  the  prairie, 
Where  the  mists  are  creeping  over, — 
Though  it  moves  not,  still  contented 
Low  to  lie  and  sparkle  only. 
Many  are  there  who  rush  madly, 
Like  a  leaping  river,  onward. 
Ne'er  content  and  never  waiting, 
Till  they  reach  their  high  ambition, 
Which  is  ever  on  before  them. 
Like  a  lake,  whose  placid  bosom 
Lies  in  silence  and  in  shadow. 
Rippling  forth  its  scarce-heard  music, 
Others  live  in  calm  contentment, 
Cheering  onward  fellow  spirits; 


34  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

As  the  lake  and  rushing  river 
Each  on  earth  is  given  a  mission, 
Each  a  hero,  and  each  mission 
Is  as  lofty  as  the  other. 

Cheyenne  Mountain,  clothed  in  beauty, 
Lifts  her  form  above  the  vapors; 
Clad  in  green,  with  lighter  patches 
'Mid  the  darker,  and  a  girdle 
Red  and  white  is  wrapped  about  her; 
And  the  green  upon  her  garments 
Is  the  waving  woods?  and  grasses, 
And  her  girdle  is  the  sandstone, 
Red  and  white,  in  masses  round  her. 

Once  'mid  Colorado's  mountains, 
Whore  the  Redman  pitched  his  wigwam, 
Where  are  found  the  poor  and  lowly, 
Cheering  all  with  deeds  of  mercy, 
Making  throb  e'en  savage  bosoms, 
Lived  a  Colorado  poet. 
Queen  was  she;  the  Redman  loved  her, 
For  she  loved  his  native  mountains. 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  37 

With  their  forests  and  their  meadows, 
And  she  loved  the  Indian  also, 
Lived  to  aid  him,  point  him  upward. 
She  it  was  who  told  the  story 
Of  the  Indian  maid  Ramona, 
Of  true-hearted  Alessandro, 
In  its  accents  wild,  pathetic. 
Well  she  loved  her  little  homestead 
In  the  Beautiest  of  Cities, 
Well  she  loved  its  lanes  and  highways 
'Neath  the  great  trees'  quiet  shadow. 
Better  yet  she  loved  the  woodland, 
Where  the  gentle  waters  murmur, 
Where  within  its  leafy  bowers 
Sings  the  wild  bird  to  the  blossoms, 
Where  the  throbbing  heart  of  nature 
Beats  accord  with  human  bosoms, 
And  within  the  sacred  portals 
God  and  man  commune  together, 
Heart  with  richest  pleasure  welling 
Oft  she  lingered  on  the  mountain; 
In  its  solitudes  and  forests, 
Lonely,  she  conversed  with  Nature; 


38  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

For  she  understood  the  language 

Of  the  brook  and  of  the  pine-trees. 

Somewhere  on  its  lonely  bosom 

Lies  a  grave,  where  friends  in  sorrow 

Linger  oft,  and  cast  upon  it 

Some  bright  stone  in  fond  remembrance. 

Higher  now  the  clouds  are  lifted 
Where  Mount  Baldy's  barren  forehead 
Basks  in  sunshine.     Grimly  stands  he 
Ever  loathing  to  look  upward 
Toward  Old  Pike's  superior  summit. 
And  disdaining  to  look  downward 
To  the  lowly  mounds  beneath  him; 
For  his  gray  old  head  is  jealous 
That  he  cannot  lift  it  higher, 
To  a  station  more  exalted 
In  the  clearer  airs  of  heaven. 

Far  below  is  naught  but  vapor; 
And  the  moTmta-rn7  fliat  for  ages 
Has  stood  firm  and  never  shaken, 
Shrinks  before  a  sullen  ocean; 


"Somewhere  on  its  lonely  bosom 
Lies  a  grave, " 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  41 

And  with  all  its  up-heaved  masses, 
Stone  on  stone,  it  seems  to  falter, 
And  sink  downward,  slowly  downward 
As  a  monster  ship  that's  broken 
In  a  vast  and  hungry  ocean. 
Lone  I  stand;  and  round  about  me 
There  is  nothing,  save  the  sunshine 
And  the  sky;  for  all  beneath  it, 
Where  were  once  the  scenes  familiar 
That  are  wont  to  greet  the  vision, 
Restless  rolls  the  surging  vapor. 
A  lone  island  in  an  ocean 
Boundless  as  the  great  Pacific! 
Billows  whiter  than  the  snowflakes 
Stretch  far  outward  in  the  distance 
Till  they  meet  the  dim  horizon. 
Hark!  Below  the  ocean's  surface — 
Warning  of  some  pending  evil! 
Mutterings  low,  deep  sounding  voices, 
Like  a  multitude  of  cannon 
Far  away,  o'er-awe  the  spirit. 
While  above  is  naught  but  sunshine, 
From  beneath  there  comes  the  bellow 


42  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Of  the  thunder  in  the  valley. 

There  the  storm  in  fury  rages 

And  the  lightnings  play  with  thunder. 

Now  behold  the  mists  have  vanished; 
Far  and  wide  a  richer  glory 
Shineth  forth  from  hill  and  valley. 
Robed  in  sunshine  rests  the  prairie, 
And  above  a  deeper  azure 
Than  e'er  decked  Italian  heavens 
Fills  the  sky:— a  fairy  flaxfield, 
Bluer  than  on  earth  may  blossom. 
Through  the  air  a  freshness  wanders, 
And  new  life  seems  born  within  it. 
Now  again  the  mountain's  summit 
Stands  aloft,  'bove  all  the  landscape, 
And  the  rock-squirrel  in  the  hollow 
Pipes  again  his  cheery  greeting. 

Wider  grows  the  panorama. 
Far  away  across  the  prairie 
On  the  north  a  line  of  mountains 
Raise  their  heads  above  the  level. 


[ 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  45 

As  the  sky  that  rests  upon  them, 
Blue  they  seem;  for  human  vision 
Is  too  feeble  to  distinguish 
One  bright  hue  from  all  the  others; 
And  they  too  seem  purer,  clearer, 
Since  the  storm  has  passed  above  them. 
Lines  of  smoke  float  o'er  the  prairie, 
Where  the  throbbing  locomotives 
Hurry  on  their  busy  errands. 
Nearer  to  the  distant  mountains, 
Whither  point  the  creeping  engines, 
Lie  beneath  a  smoky  curtain 
All  the  mighty  architecture, 
Streets  and  highways  wide  extended, 
Beauteous  Queen  of  Western  Cities. 
Queen  indeed  !     For  she  doth  foster 
All  the  arts  that  lift  men  higher. 
In  her  walls  the  busy  tradesman 
Plies  his  task  with  firm  endeavor; 
Toiling  workmen,  often  weary, 
Day  on  day  in  shop  and  factory 
Earn  their  bread;  fair  learning  lingers, 
With  her  wealth,  in  palace  golden, 


4fo  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE  S  PEAK. 

Dealing  forth  her  priceless  treasures, 
Lifting  up  the  minds  of  mortals; 
And  beneath  the  lofty  turrets, 
Raising  high  their  pointing  fingers, 
Souls  of  men  are  taught  and  nourished, 
Taught  to  love  their  fellow-beings, 
And  'bove  all  to  love  the  Maker 
Of  their  mountains  and  their  prairies. 
Although  dimly  seen  and  distant, 
Still  my  fancy  sees  the  city, 
Clear  as  if  I  were  beside  her, 
With  her  marts  and  lofty  buildings, 
With  her  ringing  shops  and  railways, 
And  the  many  souls  that  throng  them; 
And  from  mansion  and  from  cottage, 
From  the  street  and  from  the  foundry, 
Upward  like  a  cloud  of  incense, 
Like  the  smoke  above  the  city, 
Rise  the  thoughts  of  men.     I  fancy 
They  ascend  high  into  Heaven 
To  be  judged  of  the  Almighty. 
Myriad  thoughts  of  love  and  hatred, 
Thoughts  of  good  and  thoughts  of  evil; 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  47 

From  glad  hearts  that  bound  with  pleasure, 

And  from  hearts  which  gnawing  anguish 

Has  enthralled  and  bent  to  earthward; 

Noble  thoughts  of  souls  whose  purpose 

Is  no  lower  than  the  heavens, 

And  of  other  souls  that  grovel 

In  the  dust  that  lies  beneath  them; 

Beauteous  thoughts,  that  in  the  future 

Shall  make  glad  the  hearts  of  many, 

Mighty  thoughts,  that  swiftly  flying 

Shall  go  forth  to  move  a  Nation; — 

All  in  one  unmeasured  column 

Roll  they  to  the  Pearly  Portals, 

To  the  very  gates  of  Heaven, 

From  the  Queen  of  Western  Cities. 

Darkness  closes  o'er  the  landscape. 
As  a  rose  that  fades  in  summer, 
As  a  thought  that's  lost  forever, 
So  the  day  fades  from  my  vision. 
From  the  glowing  western  heavens, 
Whence  the  sun  in  glory  vanished, 
Fades  the  red  and  blue  and  golden; 


48  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK 

From  each  lofty  mount  and  city, 
From  the  boundless,  endless  prairie, 
From  each  cataract  and  canon, 
And  each  lake  and  rushing  river, 
Fades  the  day;  and  o'er  the  heavens, 
Sparkling,  twinkling,  glow  the  diamonds, 
That  adorn  the  Home  of  Angels. 
Now  the  mountains  in  the  darkness, 
Rise  like  spectors  grim  and  ghastly, 
And  below,  the  black  abysses 
That  go  downward,  never  ending, 
Make  the  soul  in  awe  to  shudder; 
But  as  when  a  mortal  spirit 
Knoweth  naught  but  night  and  sorrow, 
Struggles  on  and  sees  no  future, 
When  that  life  in  gloom  is  darkest, 
Light  of  dawning  hope  breaks  on  it; 
So  from  out  the  darkened  valleys, 
Where  the  cities  lie  in  slumber, 
Comes  the  glimmer  of  the  street-lamps. 

Now,  adieu  !     Ye  sparkling  cities; 
Mountains  vast,  adieu  !     Ye  prairies 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  49 

That  stretch  outward  in  the  darkness, 
Till  ye  meet  some  lonely  river, 
Or  some  mountain  in  the  distance; — 
All  adieu  !     A  mind  bewildered 
Says:  "Farewell,  farewell,  forever!" 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

THE  LAKE. 

The  lake  at  evening  lies  asleep 
Beneath  the  mountain's  rugged  steep, 
Reflecting  its  golden,  sun-lit  brow, 
For  all  is  peace  and  quiet  now; 
All, — save  the  night-lark's  evening  hymn 
And  the  ripples  on  the  water's  brim, 
Where  speckled  trout  in  sporting  rise, 
To  catch  the  glistening  water-flies. 

I  gaze  on  thee  as  did  of  yore 

The  Redman  on  thy  beauteous  shore, 

Who  swiftly  in  his  light  canoe 

Had  crossed  thy  placid  sheet  of  blue, 

And  with  his  spoil  slow  plodded  home 

From  haunts  where  wild  deer  love  to  roam, 


52  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Where  squirrels  climb  the  tall  spruce-trees 
And  blue-bells  nod  to  the  evening  breeze. 

The  suri  is  set.     On  comes  the  night, 
As  silently  as  dew-drops  bright, 
When  summer's  day  is  near  its  close, 
Collect  upon  the  blushing  rose. 
Above  the  gray  old  mountain  peaks 
The  silver  moon  all  trembling  seeks 
The  azure  sky,  and  in  its  light 
The  dark,  cold  crags  are  gleaming  bright. 
Across  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
In  quivering  silence,  moon-beams  break, 
And  there  within  its  liquid  breast 
I  see  the  glorious  mountain's  crest, 
And  there, — the  rising  moon's  broad  face 
Amid  the  splashing  trout,  I  trace. 

Sweet,  placid  waters  !  By  thy  side, 
Men  have  lived  and  loved  and  died, 
But  thou,  through  rolling  ages  past, 
Hast  lived  and  shalt  forever  last.. 


AN  AWAKENED  REMEMBRANCE. 

O,  hear  the  distant  cowbells  ring! 

How  011  the  air  of  night  they  fling 
Their  mellow  notes  so  sweet  and  clear  !. 

Unto  my  soul  they  seem  to  bring 

The  melodies  they  used  to  sing 
Into  my  childhood's  listening  ear. 

Their  music  is  as  sweet  as  then; 

When  over  hill  and  quiet  glen 
My  tired  feet  had  wandered  long, 

And,  as  the  evening  sun  sank  low, 

Faint  from  the  shadowed  vale  below 
Came  floating  out  that  welcome  song. 

Then  homeward  bound,  o'er  waving  green, 
Past  many  a  sweet-breathed  flower  unseen, 
With  lazy  tread  on  marched  the  cows; 


54  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

And  then  rose  many  a  simple  rhyme, 
For  the  old  cowbells  were  keeping  time 
To  the  music  of  the  dark  pine  boughs. 

Long  after  the  departing  sun 

Had  sunk  to  rest  and  day  was  done, 

When  lights  were  out  and  all  was  still, 
Then  sweetly  to  my  dreamy  ear 
The  bells  came  tinkling  soft  and  clear, 

And  lulled  to  dreamland  'gainst  my  will. 


MY  LADY  MARAPOSA. 

My  Lady, — she's  a  bonny  lass, 

Sweet  my  Lady  Maraposa  ! 
There's  naught  her  beauty  can  surpass;— 

Sweet  my  Lady  Maraposa  ! 

My  Lady  hath  a  nut-brown  eye, 

An  eye  with  purest  love  o'erflowing: 

'Twas  through  its  crafty  magic  I 
Lost  all  my  heart,  myself  bestowing. 

Her  blossom  cheek, — 'tis  lovlier  far 
Than  any  famed  in  olden  story. 

Oh,  naught  shall  e'er  its  beauty  mar, 
Its  dimpling  smile,  its  quiet  glory  ! 

My  Lady's  bower?     Thrice  blest  abode  ! 
The  palace  wild  of  joy-crowned  Nature; 


56  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE?S  PEAK. 

The  prairie  wide,  the  boundless  wood: 

Her  friends  ?     Ah,  many  a  happy  creature. 

The  tall,  lithe  grasses  nod  their  crests 
And  beck  and  smile  and  court'sy  to  her. 

The  sombre  pines  with  heaving  breasts 
And  many  a  sigh  attempt  to  woo  her. 

But  no;  she  thrusts  them  back  in  scorn, 
'Tis  so;  for  once  she  told  me  of  it, 

Just  at  the  rosy  blush  of  morn 

When  the  earth  was  fair  as  the  sky  above  it. 

And  many  a  secret  pure  and  sweet 
She  told  me  on  that  lovely  morning. 

Of  the  elfen  mosses  at  her  feet, 

Of  the  great  white  clouds  the  sky  adorning. 

Oh,  what  winning  graces  thine  ! 

Sweet  my  Lady  Maraposa; — 
These  are  thine  and  thou  art  mine, 

Mine  is  Lady  Maraposa  ! 


A  FADED  BLOSSOM. 

At  last  she  fadeth  from  our  sight 

As  dotli  a  happy  dream 
That  slips  away  into  the  night, 

When  it  doth  brightest  seem; 

For  He,  who  once  on  earth  did  dwell 
And  did  the  children  bless, 

Hath  known  each  childish  fancy  well, 
Each  childish  happiness. 

And  so  He  beckoned  her  above, 

Unto  his  loving  breast. 
And  in  His  mighty  arms  of  love 

Her  spirit  is  at  rest. 

Full  joyously  she  bade  adieu 
To  all  her  merry,  play, 


58  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

In  garments  of  a  lovlier  hue 
To  dwell  with  Him  alway; 


To  rove  within  the  Portals  Grand 
And  pluck  the  blossoms  there, — 

Her  hand  within  the  Master's  hand, 
Her  spirit  in  His  care. 

And  why  should  we,  her  friends  below, 

With  faltering  voice  and  sad, 
E'er  murmer  that  He  willed  it  so 

And  that  her  soul  is  glad? 

Yet  we  cannot  but  miss  her  smile, 

Her  simple  childish  glee; — 
And  so  must  mourn  each  flower  the  while, 

The  brook,  the  dusty  bee 

Tall  columbines  upon  the  hills 

Bend  low  their  purple  heads, 
And  violets  by  silent  rills 

Weep  in  their  mossy  beds. 


THE  VIEW  FKOM  PIKE'S  PEAK.  59 

Bright  daisy  eyes  are  bathed  in  dew, 

And  drooping  flax-eyes  weep; 
Because  two  gems  of  brighter  blue 

Are  closed  for  aye  in  sleep. 

The  robin's  voice  has  ceased  to  sing 

Sweet  melodies  at  dawn, 
At  eve  the  night-lark  folds  her  wing 

And  whispers, — "She  has  gone." 

Farewell,  sweet  child!     Farewell  to  thee! 

Art  gone  forevermore  ? 
Ah,  no!     Thy  face  again  we'll  see, 

Just  on  the  other  shore. 


THE  FRIENDSHIP  OF  BOOKS. 

Silent  friends  are  the  books  we  read; 
Yet  they  speak  with  note  sublime, 
Oft  in  the  august  voice  of  prose, 
Oft  in  the  sweeter  tones  of  rhyme: 

Silent ;— yet  as  the  firm  set  brow 

Tolls  where  God-like  passions  roll. 

As  the  quivering  lips  and  the  sparkling  eye 

Speak  forth  the  music  .of  the  soul 

They  are  wizards  gray  with  bosoms  of  love, 
And  they  chant  to  the  notes  of  the  tremulous 

lyre, 

Or  they  spin  their  tales  in  a  dreamy  mood 
By  the  flickering  light  of  the  evening  fire. 

They  tell  us  strange  legends  and  stories  old 
Of  the  far-off  days  of  the  long-ago, 


THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE?S  PEAK.  61 

And  we're  sitting  beside  the  tavern  gray 
While  the  village  clock  strikes  long  and  slow. 
And  often  they  tell  us  a  merrier  tale 
Of  revels  and  glittering  banquet  halls, 
Bright  glimpses  we  catch  of  faces  gay 
And  a  mirthful  laugh  to  the  pleasure  calls. 

Grey  seers  of  eld,  from  the  distant  past, 
In  measured  tones  their  lore  unfold;   . 
All  hushed  we  hearken,  and  lo — we  hear 
Their  voices  down  the  ages  rolled. 

Long  years  have  flown,  and  the  present  grand 
Is  pictured  aglow  in  printed  hues; 
On  the  spark  electric,  on  conquered  power. 
Appalled  by  their  grandeur  we  ponder  and  muse. 

And  the  living  books  tell  of  living  men 

That  speak  with  words  of  living  fire ; 

Their   aims, — how  noble  !     Their  deeds, — how 

grand  ! 
High  Heaven's  pulsations  their  bosoms  inspire. 


62  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PKAK. 

Though  often  far  distant  from  Nature's  haunts 
Her  heart-soothing  accents  in  fancy  we  hear 
In  the  mellow  voice  of  our  time-worn  friends, 
Or  her  wilder  echoes  burst  forth  on  the  ear. 

O,  hark  !     Tis  the  carol  of  summer  bird 
O'er-topping  the  song  of  the  somber  pines: 
How  sweet  here  to  linger  and  dream  for  aye 
By  the  herb-fringed  brook  where  the  warm  sun 
shines  ! 

There's  a  world  of  wealth  in  the  printed  page, 
There  are  hoarded  treasures,  rich  thoughts  of 

gold, 

There  are  diamonds  of  wisdom  from  every  age, 
The  well-gathered  wages  of  labor  untold. 


AT  CLOSE  OF  DAY. 

The  warm  south-west  caresses  soft  my  cheek 
And  faintly  murmurs  o'er  the  campus  gray, 

Rose-tinted  clouds  grow  paler  in  the  west, 
The  great  trees  wrave,  farewell,  unto  the  day. 

As  twilight  gathers  round,  the  lights  of  eve 
Beam   forth   from  each  low  cot  and  farm-house 
brown, 

The  watch-dog's  plaintive  bark  re-echoes  far, 
A  rattling  wagon,  from  the  neighboring  town, 

Rolls  empty  down  the  long  and  dusty  road, 
And,  as  the  distant  rumbling  dies  away, 

In  childish  tones  come  snatches  of  a  song, 
Oft  interrupted  by  the  shout  of  play. 

And  now  the  voice  grows  clear  and  others  join, 
The  play  is  hushed,  and  lightly  borne  along 


64  THE  VIEW  FROM  PIKE'S  PEAK. 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  wind  there  comes 
A  fragment  of  the  ''Swanee  River"  song. 

That  song, —  it  brings  the  mem'ries  that  my 

soul 
Doth  cherish   most:  the  mountain  homo,  where 

wild 

Among  the  rocks  the  singing  pine  tree  grew 
And  hummed  to  me  that  old  song  when  a  child. 

I  love  the  twilight  gray,  the  wind,  the  song; 
And  must  I  leave  it  now?     Oh,  Must  I  go? 

I  fain  would  linger  here  and  listen  long 
And  dream  for  aye  of  joys  I  used  to  know. 

But  no  !     To  dull,  relentless  care  a  prey 
And  bound  to  bend  o'er  books  with  aching  brain, 

It  is  not  mine  such  fancies  to  indulge, 
Such  thoughts  must  strive  for  liberty  in  vain. 


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